


Asphodels

by ydidxox



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Bad Writing, Bathtubs, Blood, Choking, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Guilt, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Breakdown, Nudity, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Strangulation, technically my first fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ydidxox/pseuds/ydidxox
Summary: You mustered up the strength to kill Lawrence before he kills you... and the guilt is eating at you.Follows the events of the ending, "You Killed Lawrence Instead."





	Asphodels

_That felt pretty good._

You waited until the life drained from Lawrence's eyes, simply watching him for minutes, an unbroken gaze with Lawrence as he pleaded and begged with his eyes, for you to do something, anything to make it stop hurting, for you to save him. You didn't. Before long, his eyes dulled.

Lawrence was dead.

Satisfied, you made your way to the front of the apartment—it amazes you that he thought he needed  _seven_ locks on one door, but you mustn't dwell on it—and worked your way down the row of padlocks and chain locks before gently turning the knob and pushing the door open. For a second, you hesitated. Lawrence had been holding you captive, threatening your life and terrifying you, but was it really necessary to kill him? Surely not...

_You mustn't dwell on it._

It was a draining walk out of the apartment building and back home. Although Lawrence's apartment wasn't far from where you lived, your legs were sore and numb from being duct-taped to a chair for several days. A pang of warmth and nostalgia finally hit you upon seeing your house again. You were already an introverted homebody to begin with—though you still managed to be friendly—but spending time trapped in a strange man's apartment was—oh god. You killed Lawrence. He was dead, and you killed him. Rationally, you knew he was going to kill you if you hadn't gotten to him first, but... You had  _enjoyed_ killing him, enjoyed watching the life drain from his eyes.

The fear and pain had made you delirious—animalistic, even—certainly, you would die if you hadn't done what you did, but the passion you had when you shoved hedge shears in his stomach disgusted you. You thought of how he had seemed to avert your gaze, how his cheeks burnt bright when you said something he liked, how he smiled sweetly, nervously, when you told him you liked to garden and you found out you both liked to be needed. Perhaps that's what drew you to Lawrence. Standing in your driveway, you broke down crying. You  _liked_ Lawrence. He was eccentric (you hesitated to admit you thought was  _cute_ ) but he was soutterly _insane._ He deserved to die, didn't he? You weren't sure, anymore. Dragging breaths slowly from your lungs, your sobs began to subside.

_Jesus. What a nightmare._

You peered around your neighborhood, embarrassed. Hopefully no one saw that. You stood up slowly—you must've sunk down on the rough cement in your driveway and curled into a ball during your... _episode_...—and reached into your pocket before realizing Lawrence had probably patted you down for anything that could be used as weaponry.

_Guess He didn't want me fighting back,_ you thought. A mix of guilt, anger, and sadness invaded your thoughts for another moment. Shaking the feeling, you remembered the spare key you'd stashed under your doormat (a typical hiding spot, but you weren't counting on anyone breaking in) and you were back inside the house. It felt like a lifetime ago since you'd been in your own living room. Distantly, you remembered blood splattering your complexion and wiped your face, leaving stripes of crimson on your knuckles.  _Oh. Right._

You eased your clothing off gently, slowly making your way to the bathroom. It was fairly nice—a modest amount of space with a tub large enough to fit two adults—and you briskly turned the faucet, the water pouring out nearly hot enough to burn your skin.  _Good._

You waited long enough for the bathtub to fill halfway and slowly, you sunk into the water, from the tips of your toes to your thighs and up to your abdomen. You hissed out in pain as your wrists touched the water, tinting the bathtub pink. Easing your shoulders against the wall— _"Ah, Shit!"_  Your neck felt like it was on  _fire._

Panting, you raised your hips up, pushing your elbows forward and lifting the area above the small of your back against the wall instead, reliving pressure from your aching spine. You made a mental note to go to the hospital as soon as you woke up the next morning. Sighing, you let your mind wander to distract yourself from the pain. Lawrence cut you, bled you out, called you beautiful. You shivered, blushed at the thought. The way he smiled—your hand traveled downwards—refused to look at you, it was so tempting to stay.  _If you had stayed... Maybe..._

You gasped as you felt how wet you'd gotten, slowly teasing fingers in and out of your entrance. You moaned softly. He was crazy,  _this is crazy,_ but... you thought about how gently he was grasping your hands as he cut deeper and deeper, blood trickling from your wrists, watching you with those tender blue eyes that were so nervous and fascinated and  _hungry._ You felt yourself getting so close to the edge, water pouring from the faucet rising so slowly, caressing your hips all the way to your rib cage, thinking of him. "Ah... _Lawrence_..."

His name barely audible on your tongue, you came hard. You bit your lip and moaned softly. Panting and shaking, you barely registered the water splash as cool hands wrapped around your throat. Your eyes flew open. You fought to mouth out "How..." before Lawrence's hands gripped painfully tighter. Water now a deep red, you took your surroundings in. Legs caged you in from either side as Lawrence continued to bleed out into the bathtub, a massive gash in his abdomen now present.

He was seething as you lifted your hands up to his, pleading for him to stop. He didn't. Even now, practically radiating anger and pain and  _betrayal,_ his cheeks were stained a deep rose. You realized, devastated, he must've been watching you since you left his apartment, watched as you cried and stripped and  _moaned_ , must've seen you come, calling for  _him._

"I really liked you," he starts, "You opened up to me, drew me in." He holds your throat, steadily tightens his grip, cutting off your airway. Tears stain your cheeks. Your chest burns.

"And you uprooted me. You chose to end me." You recoil in fear, in guilt.

"I'm sorry." You barely mouth the words, but you know he understands. More tears gather at your eyes as you brush hair back with a feather-light touch. It was hanging down, partially wet. You think it was because he was in such a rush to come find you. It seems to calm him down. He's blushing now, more from embarrassment than anything, and you think there's guilt in his eyes too as he stares into yours. Somewhere inside you, you think you deserve this.

"I've seen the river, you know..." He's smiling now, soft gaze staring longingly into yours. He's so quiet now; you wish he would speak louder.

"It was beautiful." You can't help but wish the statement was directed towards you, but you feel grateful he's kind enough to send you somewhere beautiful. He grips your neck harder. You know you're dying.

You can't help but notice, vision fading.

Lawrence... He's beautiful, skin rotting, blood leeching out of his abdomen. Something about the sight calms you. You remember him mentioning the river. Vacantly, you stare into those eyes again.

And you know you've seen it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off Law's third ending, his apparent inability to die, and just a bit of LUST by Kendrick Lamar. If you have any constructive criticism, please, let me know! Make something up if you have to!


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